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cases?”
    I yearned to tell him the whole story. It was probably safe now. But something stopped me. Loyalty to Max? I wasn’t sure. “Nah. Same old routine. Oh, one nice thing happened.” I told him about Carl.
    He laughed halfheartedly. The layman never appreciates doctor stories when they involve doctors’ mistakes.
    â€œI suppose you’ve been too busy to hear about the gangster that was dropped in our midst.”
    â€œI heard.”
    â€œDid you hear they ID’d him?”
    I looked up.
    â€œHe was a Philadelphia printer … .”
    I swallowed.
    â€œAnd he had a sideline.”
    My heartbeat quickened.
    â€œCounterfeiting.” He scanned my face for a reaction, then went on. “Seems there’s a printer living a stone’s throw from where the body was found. At the old Wister place. Rumor is there might be some connection.”
    â€œHuh.” I put down my Coke.
    â€œHeck, I’m surprised you’re not working on the case by now.” Tom chuckled.

    I smiled weakly and stood up.
    â€œAnother early night?
    â€œâ€™Fraid so.”
    â€œWhen’s our next lesson?”
    â€œI’ll call you.”
    â€œRight.”
    He skipped his usual good-bye kiss.

CHAPTER 16
    Despite the two bottles of wine tucked in my saddlebag, my mood was sober as I chugged up the drive to the farmhouse. The archery lesson had reminded me once more of the importance of right hands—and the possibility that Max might never be able to use his again. Also, the news that the fellow found up the road had been a printer was not encouraging. Could there be a link? Was Max into counterfeiting, too?
    As usual, Lolly came to greet me. She was more bubbly than ever, and delicious aromas drifted to me from the direction of the kitchen. She was wearing an apron that barely covered her vast bosom and she brandished a slotted spoon in one hand.
    â€œWhat are you making?” I asked, sniffing.
    â€œSurprise!” She grinned.
    I really did not think she was capable of cooking anything more complicated than steak or eggs. I doubted if she could even read a recipe. I followed her back to the kitchen. To my amazement, the table, which had so recently served as my operating theater, was set with place mats, silverware and a spray of fall wildflowers.
    â€œHow beautiful!” I exclaimed
    For a minute, I was afraid Lolly was going to rise like a
balloon—with pleasure. But she kept her feet on the ground. I set my brown paper bag with the wine on the table. She took out the bottles and started to put both in the refrigerator. I stopped her. “The red doesn’t need to be chilled.”
    She looked puzzled.
    â€œThat’s supposed to be served at room temperature.” I took the red from her and put it back on the table.
    Lolly went to the cupboard and removed two wineglasses. They were dusty, so she washed them.
    â€œCan I help?” I asked.
    She shook her head. Then, changing her mind, she brought me a corkscrew.
    â€œCan you tell me what we’re having for dinner?” I needed to know, in order to decide which wine to open.
    She frowned, not wanting to spoil her surprise.
    â€œNever mind,” I said hastily. “We’ll wait and open it when dinner’s ready. I’ll go check on your dad.” I left. Lolly, like most cooks, worked best without too many distractions.
    The TV was on, but Max wasn’t watching it. He was sprawled on the sofa, his eyes glued to the den door. At first, I thought it was me he was waiting for so expectantly. But as soon as I came in, he said, “Did you get the wine?”
    I smiled. “You’re not eager or anything?”
    â€œIt’s been a long time,”
    â€œOh?” Was I leading a reformed alcoholic back to his evil ways? “How come?”
    â€œLolly has no ID. She can’t buy alcohol.”
    I stared. “You mean you can’t leave this place even to go to a